Neptune - Part 6

Part 6 – Our Father

Neptune's Journal 12/11/2068

The world is changed. The face of politics is changed. Recomkind has changed. It is about time that we took the reins of our own destiny. Luna is a recom nation which, in the past, has always been ruled by humankind. My recent election has changed all that, and I cannot help but to reflect on it. What does our future look like? As much as I hope otherwise, humankind will not stop fighting. It is what they do. I fear for our own destiny, for we possess the same roots.
While the men who served here previous to me have been thinking of human needs, I bring a different perspective. I expect to be overruled and ridiculed, but when the world ends, I will be seen as a champion. Where I expect that mankind will soon become a thing of the past, I hope that recomkind has a chance. We have access to fine genetic engineering laboratories here, to continue the cheap recom labour that has kept Lunarian society going, but will soon become essential to the preservation of our species. Because of the rarity of humans off-planet even now, their race will surely perish.
Will we learn from their mistakes? Or will we submit to the same culture of weapons and war? Only time will tell. But I will do my best to provide guidance.

***

Before I fall asleep, there is a soft knocking on my door. I flick on the light and get up from bed, only wearing pyjama bottoms at this time. I slowly pull the door open, to see my child looking up at me, eyes wide and seeming to possess a glint of nervousness. "Tash? It's late. You should be asleep by now."
"I can't sleep. Not now..."
I crouch down slightly. She's not much shorter than me, even so early in her life. "What is it, sweetie?"
Her distress only seems to grow as I ask the question, her eyes flicking downwards towards the floor. "Do you love me?"
The question breaks my heart, mostly because it's posed as a question at all. "Of course I do. You know that."
She nods slowly and crosses her arms over her stomach mumbling something incomprehensibly. I shake my head, unable to hear her words, urging her silently to articulate better. She looks up at me with scared eyes and clutches her stomach even harder. "It... I'm bleeding."
I raise my brow slightly, trying to figure out what to even say in response to that. It is a rare thought that ever passes through my head, but I kind of wish that Cheryl were here right now. I am thoroughly unprepared for this, especially since Natasha is so young. Women in my family tend to be late bloomers, but I guess that Natasha refuses to fit the mould in everything she does. "I'll go get you something, honey."
I walked back into my room and started to search frantically through the Cheryl's things in the master bath. I wonder if Cheryl has even spoken to the girls about this kind of thing. It seems unlikely. Is it a conversation that I should have had? While it might have been awkward for me to do it, at least then I would not have to face my terrified child tonight. I grab Cheryl's box of feminine product and rush out, offering it to Natasha. "Here, take these to the washroom. There should be instructions somewhere... there..." I sigh and say, "Once you're done, if you'd like to talk, I'll still be here and I'll be up." There's not much else I can do, but I feel guilty for being helpless as she looks at me uncertainly and walks off.
I sit back down on the foot of my bed and pick up the book I was reading earlier, a philosophy book written at the advent of recomkind. It is an old school book, since I was a philosophy major with a specialization in bioethics. I open it and look at the pages, but I do not read the words since there are other things on my mind. I glance up after a few minutes to the sound of the creaking of the washroom door, placing my book to the side and waiting to see if Natasha comes back through my open door. She almost seems smaller than usual as she passes the threshold, the way she takes small steps and clutches her arms close to her body. It is a big change from her normal, more confrontational body language, which makes it clear to me that my concern is not misplaced.
"Tash? Do you want to sit down?"
She nods and says, fearfully, "What's happening? Am I sick?"
"No, you're just having your first period." I feel odd. This is likely not a conversation that a father is meant to have. I resolve to try my best, though, since I'm the best she has right now. Samara would likely be squirming even more than me in this situation.
Natasha's eyes go wide and she says, "What?" She sounds distraught. "I... I didn't really know what a period was exactly but... that couldn't have happened!" Her voice moves more towards anger, an emotion I am more familiar with in this child. "I read on the internet that if I exercised enough it wouldn't happen... Why did this happen to me?"
I put my arms around her, hoping that my presence will calm her. "This is a natural thing. It only means that you are on your way to womanhood. You're growing up." To these words, she buries her face in my shoulder and begins to sob.
***
"Goodness, Errol, every time I see you, you seem exhausted."
I rest my head against the wall by the booth I'm sitting at, Cleveland sits across from me with his menu upright as he peruses all of the breakfast options. We had gone to a small, comfortable diner at his behest for a breakfast meeting. Suller was to arrive shortly. "I was up late again."
"Is Cheryl keeping you up, boy?" he asks, grinning a bit at that. Cleveland is thoroughly unaware of how much I loathe my darling wife, which suits me fine. I always laugh inwardly at these kinds of questions, a secret joke that everyone seems to tell but that only I understand.
"No, Cheryl's off travelling with her sister. I had the house to myself last night. Well, I guess I had a guest over, but she was not raising any kind of ruckus last night and took to our guest room early." I close my eyes, if only because it keeps them from burning from the tiredness.
"While your wife is gone? Errol, you dog!"
"She was widowed a week ago and can't sleep in her own home because it's where her family was murdered." I open my eyes just to get a chance to see Cleveland's horrified expression before closing them again. "Fine joke. Just poor timing."
"Sorry, Errol, and you know I'd never seriously imply that you'd be unfaithful to your wife." And again with the inward laugh. I hear the clinking of his claws against his glass and the soft collisions of ice as Cleveland tries to wash down the misstep with water. The soft clop of high heels against the tile floor reaches my ears. I know that it is Suller approaching.
"Well, at least when my opponents call me an elitist snob in the next election, I'll at least be able to pull out pictures of having been here," says Suller. I sit up and open my eyes, blinking a few times to adjust to the light again. She sits down next to me and waves over a waitress. "Orange juice for now, dear. We'll see how that goes." Her attention returns to the both of us.
"Aw, you're hardly an elitist, Suller," says Cleveland, clearly amused by her comment.
"And you're hardly folksy. But we have our images painted for us." Both Suller and I are usually 'smeared' by being called elitist. In both cases, I believe it to be true. It is my opinion that this is not a bad thing, though, since I believe that having experts and elites in government is one of the only ways to get good governance. Cleveland, on the other hand, cultivates an air of folksiness because of some of his older fashioned views and easygoing behaviour. This is only image, though, even though his love of greasy spoons like this one is genuine.
"So what do you want, Cleveland? I had to skip my appointment with my personal trainer this morning." The orange juice arrives and she takes a sip from it. My attention is also drawn to Cleveland.
He looks around to make sure that we aren't being listened to, not that any of us are going to say anything relevant here except what sounds like chatter we want picked up by the inevitable media stooge who has followed one of us here by recognition. The fox recom smiles, though it does not touch his eye, and hands two files across the table for us to read.
It's typed up on blank sheets, no identifiable information on it that they are ours. When this meeting is done, all three of us will take the sheets and shred them. While the three of us may not always agree on our politics, we are all aware of the importance of subtlety. I pick up key points in the document, reading through quickly so that I can order my breakfast.
It seems that Cleveland has sources that tell him of plans of Martian espionage. Recently, things have been slow since Etienne Chevalier has taken the reigns of Designer Genes. Sick of the convoluted nature of Martian politics, he has withdrawn his hands from foreign policy and placed them firmly into manipulating policy on Martian soil and most of his moves are considered positive ethical steps. A new company, however, has recently started to compete with Designer Genes for its stranglehold on Martian government. While the Martians possess a similar democratic system as we do on Luna, all of their councillors are quite accustomed to swaying to wherever the money is at.
Advanced Intelligence is the robotics company that seems to have taken root, their cheap robotic labourers are taking a prominent place in Martian lifestyles. Everything they do seems geared towards recom comfort and luxury, but the file seems to document some of the other advancements that they are making in secret, leaked to Cleveland by his own sources. The most important of which is trait enhancing nanotechnology.
"My god," mumbles Suller, placing her orange juice on the table and replacing the small document back into the envelope. "This is serious?" Weaponized nanotechnology research has been banned by interplanetary law, in reaction to the results of the Apocolypse War. Even though the Earth ended over one hundred years ago, the results of the increasing weapons system still pervade public consciousness.
They both look to me. I shrug and look up to the waitress who has just arrived to take our order. "I'll get scrambled eggs and chorizo sausage, thank you," I say.
Cleveland simply mumbles, "The usual," before Suller snorts slightly and waves the waitress away.
"That you have a usual here is kind of disgusting. Your poor little heart is screaming each time you go through these doors, you know. You're not getting younger," admonishes the rat recom, who takes another drink from her orange juice.
With nothing more than a weak smile for those words, Cleveland looks back towards me, Suller's gaze following in turn. I know why. Out of the three of us, I tend to be the most resourceful when it comes to gathering such intelligence. It was partially due to Darryl Racer's help, but even before I first hired him I had the reputation for digging up what nobody else could. Now it would just be more difficult. I take the sheet and put it in my briefcase for now, nodding my silent acknowledgement of their wishes. "So, what's on the agenda for next council meeting?"